


Drabbles, Snippets and Junk

by bordello_blues



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bordello_blues/pseuds/bordello_blues
Summary: Multi-fandom Drabbles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a collection of Drabbles and such. Things that were meant to be fic, but didn't pan out. Things that were never meant to be anything but a few words strung together. Tags will be added as I go.
> 
> Many thanks to my beautiful, wonderful, truly magnificent best friend and beta [ressurection_en_menthe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrection_en_menthe/pseuds/resurrection_en_menthe) for dealing with these at every hour of day and night.

"Poe is making you dinner," Jess says incredulously, eyebrows crawling so high on her forehead it's hard to tell where they end and her hairline begins. Beside her, Snap is... Not okay. He's wheezing and clutching at his stomach, shoulders shaking with laughter so hard Finn is concerned the man might rattle apart.

"Is that funny? Why is that funny?" Rey asks as she wraps a slender-strong arm around Finn's waist, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"'S not," Snap manages once he gets a breath in, "Not funny." Except he's obviously lying, because he is on the floor now, clutching onto Jess' leg and howling with mirth.

"Is he going to be okay? Do we need to call a medic?" Finn takes a delicate step back from the pilot.

Jess just pats Snap indulgently on the head, like he's some sort of large, scruffy pet, and waves them off with her free hand. "Go. Enjoy your dinner," she says. Finn thinks he hears a muttered, "It's your funeral," as he and Rey are walking away, but he may be imagining it over Snap's hysterics, which have devolved into what can only be called chortling.

\---

Jess is elbow deep in turbine wiring and covered in engine grease when Poe wanders up.

"They," he sighs, making lovestruck googly eyes at Finn and Rey, who are tinkering with a damaged astromech at the other side of the hangar. Well, Rey is tinkering, Finn is watching her like she put the stars in the sky. "Are on my level." Unlike the rest of you plebes, doesn't need to be said, the intention is obvious enough.

"Oh no, don't tell me they enjoyed the poison you call haute cuisine?"

Poe's grin, when she extricates herself from the mess of X-wing parts, is blindingly bright and so wide Jess worries the top half of his skull might fall off and roll away one of these days. What a waste that would be of a perfectly dashing head of hair, she thinks.

"Loved it," Poe says, "Loved it."

If they were in a holovid, there would be hearts floating around his head.

"Wow, Dameron, you have got it bad."

"Got what?" Poe asks absentmindedly, even as he tries not to visibly melt when Finn catches his eye and gives an enthusiastic wave.

"Hey Snap," Jess hollers, loud enough that it carries all the way across the hangar, "Poe's in love."

"Oh no, don't tell me they liked his food." Snap groans to a chorus of raucous laughter.

The thing is, for all that he's the best pilot in the Resistance, Poe Dameron is probably the worst cook in it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom Poe is so often an amazing cook. But what if he weren't. Thanks to my bff and beta for the inspiration.


End file.
